The caravan crawled down the dusty trail, and farmlands spread as far as the eye could see on either side. It had taken some time to get out of the city limits, but I thought we were finally making some good time. The sun and all its fury pummeled us from above, forcing us all to swim in our own sweat. I couldn’t get the saltiness out of my mouth, no matter how much water I drank. This group I joined were in charge of the rear cars of the caravan. I wasn’t incredibly worried about the travel so much as I was wary of this pompous, sword-wielding, jackass of (what I was entirely certain) a pirate. Before the caravan even left the city, he was continually barking orders, especially at the Librarian and the other girl... Alice... I think her name is Alice. Maybe he kept away from me because we were finally reaching an understanding that I was more than capable of this type of work. I didn’t particularly dislike the group, but I didn’t really trust them either. Most of the time the Librarian seemed a neurotic mess, shying away from most things, even inanimate objects, and only really conversing with Alice, except when she and the pirate were arguing over trivial matters. She clung to her hip, constantly checking the whereabouts of her pistol. After losing one, I guess it added to her paranoia. I had never seen her draw, but I sensed she held the skill. Alice was another story, one that I didn’t know. Her continued cheeriness left a bad taste in my mouth. And I was surprised to learn back at the Lorekeepers’ place that she even had the knife on her. I doubted her ability and that she had ever even opened the thing. The air of innocence I felt around her may be a ruse, but I felt confident enough not to bother myself with the minor risk. It was this pirate, though, that really got under my skin. He wasn’t too different from myself, only a lot more outspoken. Every time he opened his mouth would’ve been a time I’d have kept mine shut. His face shined of sweat, and the reflections changed as he scanned the area around us. As I did my own sweeps of the area I noticed how often he checked on us as well. Watching his back, or making sure we were doing our part? Soon the taste of sweat became the thing I wanted most as we came upon the pig farms. Nothing energizes the body more than wanting to escape the senses being overridden by shit. It permeated the area, and I could hear others retching up whatever might have been in their stomachs. It probably tasted better than this, though. “Hold up!” The call came down the line. Of course it would happen here. The foul stench crept around us as the caravan came to a halt. I wasn’t sure why we were stopping, but as long as we started moving again I didn’t care. I swept the area behind us, and then turned my attention to the front trying to get some sort of view of the problem. I jumped up onto the flatbed trailer in the front of our section and leaned on the crates. I looked ahead as the pirate ambled forward, but not far before some caravan scouts were yelling at people to get back to their places. “We’ll be moving soon, don’t wander!” The pirate flagged the scout down, “What seems to be the problem up front?” “It’s a roadblock, we’ll be going again soon!” He barked back before riding off. Roadblock; who would be holding roadblock way out here? That’s when I saw them. Their uniforms all the same, the army camouflage, the way they were rifling through the caravan and its contractors. I remained outwardly unphased, but I had no idea what to do. They wouldn’t recognize me, I was confident. My hair was a short, spikey brown now, much different than the long locks I tied back in The Army. I didn’t have anything on me that wasn’t commonplace except the bulletproof vest. But I had stripped it down, and wore out some of the fabric, I even bleached out the color. It was indistinguishable from anything the Waltzers had. There was no problem, they would pass me by like they were passing by ... most... of the people. Here and there the Waltzers would pull someone out of line and march them towards the front. As they neared the couple of sections ahead of us, I hopped off of the flatbed and moved towards the towed Volkwagen Beetle behind it. I scanned what was behind us, a-whole-lotta nothing, and inconspicuously checked what was loaded in my recently acquired rifle. Three shots. That was not going to be enough if it came to it, and there was no way I could load ‘er up without someone noticing. I couldn’t reach behind me to check my pistol either, but I was certain I was at seven bullets there. If I was lucky I had nine or ten shots at the ready. I hadn’t really given it much thought since I escaped what I would do if I met up with them again. Surely, no one in this platoon would recognize me. The situation made me wish I had approached my new found companions with a little more friendliness. Nonchalantly, I leaned against the car, which would be my temporary proof of existence, my prints in the dust, should these next few moments go wrong. Everyone watched the Waltzers as they edged nearer the end of the caravan. Most of them turned to head back front to give the all clear, but when I looked toward them I accidentally made eye contact with one. Everything about him was familiar; the way his tangled blond hair stuck up, his blue eyes looking carefully, even the way he held his gun. I knew I had seen him on one of the bases before. “You there.” Shit. I glanced around and when I looked back, pointed to myself, feigning surprise. “Yes, you. What’s your name?” Oh don’t worry, let me tell you my recognizable name, or not, “It’s Sarah.” As the soldier gave me the once over, my finger twitched. Relax, you can’t take them all on again, there much more prepared this time. “Sarah, is it? How about we head to the tent up front?” Before I could even respond I had four guards on me stripping my gear. Not good, now would be a great time for friends. As they started shoving me forward, I could hear the Librarian calling after Sarah, asking me what was wrong. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I desperately thought of ways to get out of this. Another Waltzer stopped the Librarian’s, and subsequently Alice’s, pursuit of me, and could hear the pirate trying to talk them out of making a scene. The soldier behind me had my pistol tucked in his belt. To his left there was a rifleman, two left of him another with a pistol. Everyone else in the immediate area seemed to have bludgeons of sorts. A whistle came from behind and I sprung into action. I spun to try for my gun out of the soldier’s belt, but something went horribly wrong. I tripped. Pain ricocheted through my head and shoulders. I could smell rust, and something wet was slowly creeping across my neck. The last thing I remember were the dried, crunchy weeds and dirt in my mouth after hitting the ground, and then darkness. This probably wasn’t my finest moment.
This group I joined were in charge of the rear cars of the caravan. I wasn’t incredibly worried about the travel so much as I was wary of this pompous, sword-wielding, jackass of (what I was entirely certain) a pirate. Before the caravan even left the city, he was continually barking orders, especially at the Librarian and the other girl... Alice... I think her name is Alice. Maybe he kept away from me because we were finally reaching an understanding that I was more than capable of this type of work. I didn’t particularly dislike the group, but I didn’t really trust them either.
Most of the time the Librarian seemed a neurotic mess, shying away from most things, even inanimate objects, and only really conversing with Alice, except when she and the pirate were arguing over trivial matters. She clung to her hip, constantly checking the whereabouts of her pistol. After losing one, I guess it added to her paranoia. I had never seen her draw, but I sensed she held the skill.
Alice was another story, one that I didn’t know. Her continued cheeriness left a bad taste in my mouth. And I was surprised to learn back at the Lorekeepers’ place that she even had the knife on her. I doubted her ability and that she had ever even opened the thing. The air of innocence I felt around her may be a ruse, but I felt confident enough not to bother myself with the minor risk.
It was this pirate, though, that really got under my skin. He wasn’t too different from myself, only a lot more outspoken. Every time he opened his mouth would’ve been a time I’d have kept mine shut. His face shined of sweat, and the reflections changed as he scanned the area around us. As I did my own sweeps of the area I noticed how often he checked on us as well. Watching his back, or making sure we were doing our part?
Soon the taste of sweat became the thing I wanted most as we came upon the pig farms. Nothing energizes the body more than wanting to escape the senses being overridden by shit. It permeated the area, and I could hear others retching up whatever might have been in their stomachs. It probably tasted better than this, though.
“Hold up!” The call came down the line. Of course it would happen here.
The foul stench crept around us as the caravan came to a halt. I wasn’t sure why we were stopping, but as long as we started moving again I didn’t care. I swept the area behind us, and then turned my attention to the front trying to get some sort of view of the problem. I jumped up onto the flatbed trailer in the front of our section and leaned on the crates. I looked ahead as the pirate ambled forward, but not far before some caravan scouts were yelling at people to get back to their places. “We’ll be moving soon, don’t wander!”
The pirate flagged the scout down, “What seems to be the problem up front?”
“It’s a roadblock, we’ll be going again soon!” He barked back before riding off.
Roadblock; who would be holding roadblock way out here? That’s when I saw them. Their uniforms all the same, the army camouflage, the way they were rifling through the caravan and its contractors. I remained outwardly unphased, but I had no idea what to do. They wouldn’t recognize me, I was confident. My hair was a short, spikey brown now, much different than the long locks I tied back in The Army. I didn’t have anything on me that wasn’t commonplace except the bulletproof vest. But I had stripped it down, and wore out some of the fabric, I even bleached out the color. It was indistinguishable from anything the Waltzers had. There was no problem, they would pass me by like they were passing by ... most... of the people.
Here and there the Waltzers would pull someone out of line and march them towards the front. As they neared the couple of sections ahead of us, I hopped off of the flatbed and moved towards the towed Volkwagen Beetle behind it. I scanned what was behind us, a-whole-lotta nothing, and inconspicuously checked what was loaded in my recently acquired rifle. Three shots. That was not going to be enough if it came to it, and there was no way I could load ‘er up without someone noticing. I couldn’t reach behind me to check my pistol either, but I was certain I was at seven bullets there. If I was lucky I had nine or ten shots at the ready. I hadn’t really given it much thought since I escaped what I would do if I met up with them again. Surely, no one in this platoon would recognize me. The situation made me wish I had approached my new found companions with a little more friendliness.
Nonchalantly, I leaned against the car, which would be my temporary proof of existence, my prints in the dust, should these next few moments go wrong. Everyone watched the Waltzers as they edged nearer the end of the caravan. Most of them turned to head back front to give the all clear, but when I looked toward them I accidentally made eye contact with one. Everything about him was familiar; the way his tangled blond hair stuck up, his blue eyes looking carefully, even the way he held his gun. I knew I had seen him on one of the bases before.
“You there.” Shit. I glanced around and when I looked back, pointed to myself, feigning surprise. “Yes, you. What’s your name?”
Oh don’t worry, let me tell you my recognizable name, or not, “It’s Sarah.” As the soldier gave me the once over, my finger twitched. Relax, you can’t take them all on again, there much more prepared this time.
“Sarah, is it? How about we head to the tent up front?” Before I could even respond I had four guards on me stripping my gear. Not good, now would be a great time for friends.
As they started shoving me forward, I could hear the Librarian calling after Sarah, asking me what was wrong. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I desperately thought of ways to get out of this.
Another Waltzer stopped the Librarian’s, and subsequently Alice’s, pursuit of me, and could hear the pirate trying to talk them out of making a scene. The soldier behind me had my pistol tucked in his belt. To his left there was a rifleman, two left of him another with a pistol. Everyone else in the immediate area seemed to have bludgeons of sorts.
A whistle came from behind and I sprung into action. I spun to try for my gun out of the soldier’s belt, but something went horribly wrong. I tripped. Pain ricocheted through my head and shoulders. I could smell rust, and something wet was slowly creeping across my neck. The last thing I remember were the dried, crunchy weeds and dirt in my mouth after hitting the ground, and then darkness. This probably wasn’t my finest moment.